


curiosity killed the cat (don't let it catch you coming back)

by yutaeilbot



Category: NCT (Band), NCT 127 - Fandom
Genre: Demons, Haunting, Horror, M/M, Minor Character Death, ambiguous ending, i dont want to mark it horror cos idk if its scary enough but like, kombucha girl meme one time, momentary demonic possession, semi-graphic animal death?, spookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yutaeilbot/pseuds/yutaeilbot
Summary: Even as Halloween came and went, Sicheng’s eyes continued playing tricks on him. Maybe he was just tired. That was all it was.#S087





	curiosity killed the cat (don't let it catch you coming back)

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to 127 fest for giving me the opportunity to broaden my writing horizons :D ive never tried to write something straight horror but i think i did...okay lmao 
> 
> also big thanks to the admin(s) for all their time and effort! also to the prompter for submitting something lmao

Old habits die hard. Sicheng knew this well, ever taunted by his mostly empty kitchen with a bulk pack of instant noodles in one cabinet. He wasn’t in university anymore — hadn’t been for two years — but it was easier to live off instant noodles than to put effort into cooking for just himself. Prepping the noodles and shoving them into the microwave was basically muscle memory at this point; an afternoon act that he could do with no effort — no brain power necessary, which he was grateful for whenever he came home from the office. 

Not that his job was particularly demanding! He was just lazy. It was nice to do things that didn’t require effort. 

He stared blankly into the microwave as it spun in circles, his eyes following the cup as it made circles around the interior from it’s spot near the edge of the rotating plate. 

_Do you think the noodles get bored being cooked like I do waiting for them to cook? _ He hummed softly, cocking his head to the side. 

His focus shifted from the cup to his reflection in the glassy surface of the microwave door. The mirror image was fuzzy, almost like an out-of-focus camera shot, and he narrowed his eyes at a barely perceptible movement in the reflection, almost like a grin tugging at the corner of the lips.

A knock at the door distracted Sicheng before he could react, drawing his attention elsewhere and he scurried to poke his head into the living room and shout “come on in!” before returning to the microwave. He squinted at his reflection when he returned and found nothing unusual. He was probably just tired. 

The vague sound of shoes being kicked off in the doorway cued him in to his visitor being Yuta, seeing as he was the only one of Sicheng’s new friends who would take off his shoes and waltz in like Sicheng’s apartment was his second home (Taeyong would shout from the doorway to announce himself before coming in, Johnny would just come to find him with his shoes on before running back to chuck them off with a sheepish smile, Jaehyun typically jumped the few feet from the doorway to the couch to lay with his feet hanging over the arm). 

As expected, Yuta appeared in the kitchen a moment later, overgrown hair a freshly dyed fiery red, gorgeous smile lighting up the room.

“Well, hello there,” Yuta cooed, practically gliding across the linoleum floor to wrap his arms snuggly around Sicheng’s waist. “You shouldn’t stare at it, baby. You’re going to hurt your eyes.” 

Sicheng smiled, easing into the elder’s arms. He turned his head to lilt, “No way, old man. Your eyes are just bad.” 

“I’m not even that much older than you,” Yuta laughed before closing the distance between them to kiss his cheek. “How was work?” 

He shrugged in response, turning in the other’s arms to face him properly. “It was okay,” he hummed, bringing his hands up to rest on Yuta’s broad shoulders. “Taeyong invited me to Halloween movie night. Do you want to go?” 

Yuta faked offense, sighing dramatically. “And to think I was the one receiving Yongie’s invites before you came here. It seems I’ve been replaced.” 

“I hardly think Taeyong inviting me to something while we’re at work means you’ve been replaced,” Sicheng laughed in response, rolling his eyes. “Besides, he probably invited me knowing I’d invite you. They’re still waiting for us to be official or whatever.” 

“Mm, yeah, he’s big on labels.” 

“You aren’t?” Sicheng teased, sliding his hands up to play with the growing ends of Yuta’s hair. “I know you’re eager to call home about a boyfriend, Yu-chan.” 

Yuta pulled a face, half-disgusted, that slowly morphed into contemplation, then back into a frown. “No. That’s what my mom calls me. Not allowed.” 

Sicheng laughed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Yuta’s. They stood like that, absorbing each other’s presence until the microwave beeped, signaling the completion of Sicheng's snack. Yuta didn’t release his hold around the other’s slender waist, instead clinging onto him like a baby koala while he pulled the cup noodles from the microwave. 

“Impeccable cooking skills,” the redhead snickered, pressing his face into Sicheng’s neck. 

“Oh, hush. I’m a simple man, I like instant ramen.” 

“No judgement,” Yuta insisted, hooking his chin over Sicheng’s shoulder to watch him shake the flavor packet into the watery noodles and stir it with a pair of disposable chopsticks. “Can I have some?” 

“No.” The answer was succinct and earned a whine from the elder. “We can go to dinner in like an hour if you want.”

“An hour?” 

“I just got home!” Sicheng gave his own whine, stomping one foot like a petulant child. “I want to eat my snack and take a shower and maybe even play a single video game.”

“That’s reasonable, I suppose.” Yuta nodded as best he could in his position. “I’d love to get dinner with you.”

“Of course you would,” Sicheng said, lifting a mouthful of steaming noodles to his mouth. He blew on them for a moment, hoping to cool them at least a little, before shoving the whole mass into his mouth. “‘m a f’ckin d’light.” 

* * *

Taeyong’s Halloween movie night was a week and a half later. Yuta and Sicheng attended together, bringing with them an offering in the form of some DIY Halloween-themed drink Yuta saw on Pinterest and  _ had _ to recreate. When they arrived at their destination, the door opened to reveal a veritable haunted house, complete with fake spider webs and hanging bats with flashing red lights for eyes. 

“I’m glad you came!” Taeyong crowed, grinning from ear to ear. Although Halloween was another week away, he was fully decked out in his little witch get-up; a lacy black blouse paired with black and orange striped bloomers, matching striped socks ending just above the knee, a classic pointed witch hat sitting upon recently dyed black hair. “I’m excited for Sicheng’s first Halloween with us.” 

Sicheng smiled sheepishly, feeling underdressed in his cape and fangs ensemble. 

“Oh, what’s this?” the elder chirped, holding his hands out towards the neatly sealed bottle in the crook of Sicheng’s elbow. Sicheng handed it over and Taeyong pulled open the lid to give it a sniff. “Smells nice! I’ll go sit it on the table. Come on in.” 

Once Taeyong disappeared into the apartment, Yuta leaned close to Sicheng’s ear and whispered, “It’s like this every year. I can’t keep up with his enthusiasm.” 

“I see why you tried to dissuade me from wearing a costume,” the younger giggled, looping his now free arm with Yuta’s. “C’mon.” 

They stepped in together, and Sicheng looked around with wide eyes, soaking in all the effort the elder clearly put into his decorations. He could never; decorations were too much hassle. 

“Yuta!” Johnny called from the couch, excusing himself from his conversation with Jaehyun to stand and greet the pair. “Nice to see you.”

“You saw me three hours ago,” Yuta retorted, grinning. 

“Well, duh.” Johnny rolled his eyes, typical deep chocolate colored earthy green with colored contacts. “I was talking to Sicheng.” 

Johnny nodded towards the younger, twisted horns stationary atop his head. Sicheng waved. 

“Who are you this year?” Yuta asked, reaching up to touch the ridged horns. He gestured to Johnny’s nondescript brown clothes. 

“Maleficent!” Johnny beamed. “I have wings for it, but since we’re going to be piled up on the couch, I didn’t want to, like, mess them up. Or hit anyone with them. So I’m Maleficent but after she gets de-winged. Have I ever told you about how that’s a great allegory for…”

The sound in the room seemed the fade. He frowned, brows furrowing, and looked around the living room as if he expected to see some reason for the odd sensation. A chill ran down his spine when his eyes moved over a dark figure by Taeyong in the kitchen, but a double-take revealed no one. 

A loud gasp broke whatever metaphorical spell he had been under, and he shook his head to bring his focus back to Taeyong, mere inches from where Sicheng’s eyes had returned, who dropped the cheap glass bottle Yuta had brought his DIY drink in. Deep red liquid spread across the linoleum floor, littered with shards of broken glass like icebergs in a dark sea. 

“I’m okay!” Taeyong said with a nervous laugh as he squatted down and tossed a handful of paper towels onto the liquid. “I guess I’ve got butter fingers today.” 

A few of the others who were present returned to their conversations, but Sicheng’s eyes stuck to Taeyong, following a nervous glance the elder threw over his shoulder to where Johnny was watching him intently. Johnny excused himself quickly from Yuta to step to Taeyong’s side, crouching next to him to help in clean up. 

Sicheng couldn’t hear what they began talking about from where he stood, but he didn’t miss the way Johnny seemed to stiffen, the almost panicked way Taeyong gripped his forearm, the urgent shake of his head. 

“A pity,” Yuta said, stepping up to Sicheng’s side and successfully pulling him from his overanalysis of the couple’s behavior in the kitchen. He turned his attention to the redhead beside him and offered a sympathetic smile. “It was good.” 

“Your talents put to waste,” Sicheng agreed, letting himself relax into Yuta’s calming presence. “Truly a one-time chance we’ll never see again in our lives.” 

“You wound me,” the elder laughed, looping his arms around Sicheng’s waist and pulling him close with a grin. Sicheng loved that they could joke about anything. He loved how Yuta made him feel so safe, so at home anywhere. “Did you want to help? You were staring.” 

Sicheng shook his head, foregoing a response in favor of wrapping his arms around Yuta in return and burying his face in the elder’s neck. He pushed Taeyong’s behavior from his mind, pushed away the image of a blurry dark figure leaning over his friend in the kitchen. It was nothing, he told himself. A trick of the light. Just a little too much of the Halloween spirit. 

* * *

Even as Halloween came and went, Sicheng’s eyes continued playing tricks on him. Eyes of portraits in the office seeming to follow him as he walked by, passing shadows in well lit rooms, items on his desk in slightly different positioning than he remembered. Maybe he was just tired. Lately it felt like he wasn’t sleeping well. That was all it was. 

One early November evening found him arriving home a little later than usual, skirting with ease around the eerily misty lake on the outskirts of town, an unfortunate eyesore between his small house and the bus stop from the bustling city center. The boss had him stay late at the office to correct some filing that had ended up mixed up (even though Sicheng swore he checked and double-checked when he had filed it to begin with), so Sicheng made it back to his little house probably an hour after the sun set beyond the horizon. 

A weird sense of apprehension gripped him the closer he got to his humble abode. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his breaths came a little more shallowly when he realized what exactly was getting to him.

His door was open. 

Sicheng came to stand on his rickety porch, staring at the tarnished brass knob of the barely open door. The inches between the door and the frame made the entire thing feel worse somehow — made the sense of unease intensify inside of him.

_ Don’t touch it, _ said the voice in the back of his head, stern and fearful.  _ _Something’s wrong._ _

Regardless, he reached out to grip the doorknob, huffing a sharp exhale through his nose as the cold metal made contact with his palm. But what then? Open it? Close it fully? Turn around and march the short distance to Yuta’s place just a bit further down the cracked sidewalk? The last option sounded the best, but Sicheng knew he’d have to enter his own home eventually. 

_ This isn’t right. You closed the door. You locked the door. _

He knew his conscience was right. There could be any manner of things waiting for him on the other side of the door — an intruder, a wild animal, anything — and it would be wise to get help, but something urged him to open the door, to push it all the way open and face whatever was waiting by himself. A soft breeze kicked up around him as his hand tightened on the doorknob. 

_ You shouldn’t. _

The breeze around him seemed to increase in strength, mussing his hair and sending a shiver down his spine. Without another thought, he pushed the door forward. His hand left the knob as the door slowly swung open but his eyes stayed affixed to the brass, his unbroken attention focused on the dull shine of it in the darkness of his entryway. Slowly, he took a step inside, old wooden floorboards creaking underneath him.

This time, the wind rushed around him; a sudden gust bursting into his home, sending a few errant leaves fluttering through the door. He listened for a sound, any sign of an intruder or otherwise uninvited guest, but none came.

Everything was calm except Sicheng’s beating heart, the blood rushing through his ears as he took a deep breath to steady himself. 

Maybe he hadn’t locked the door that morning. Maybe he just remembered wrong. Maybe he needed to start heading to bed earlier. 

He tried to brush it off, tried to shake the uneasiness that settled within him, but the voice in his head kept poking at him, urging him to think again.

_ You closed the door.  _ It said.  _ You locked the door.  _

_ Something isn’t right.  _

* * *

The next few days went back to semi-normal. 

Sure, there was the occasional random gust of wind on an otherwise breeze-less day, things going missing and turning up where they ought not be, the continuation of passing shadows and unexplainable noises. But it was fine. The dark circles under his eyes only confirmed his theory of being tired, but he couldn’t seem to find restful sleep anymore. 

It only escalated from there. Violent winds pulling papers from Sicheng’s hands, finding knives stuck into kitchen cabinets, lingering cold spots, scratching in the walls. Sicheng started to think he was just losing his mind. The weeks of disturbed sleep were clearly taking a toll on his mental state. 

He closed off a bit; every day that he woke more and more exhausted pulled him further away from his neat little social circle. The list of invitations he denied, texts he ignored, loving embraces and kisses he rebuffed grew uncountable, fueled mainly by the increased feeling that he was losing it, that he was going insane, but it was his burden to bear. Who knew how his friends would react? How Yuta would react? 

Sicheng told himself it’d just be easier if he cut them off first. He believed it until the night Yuta cornered him on his porch.

“Sicheng!” The redhead shouted, jogging up to Sicheng at the door, expression a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. “There you are. I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages.” 

“Hi, Yuta,” Sicheng said, shoulders hunching. He stayed facing the door, trying to keep himself closed off. He couldn’t let Yuta in. What good would it do?

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to lightly touch Sicheng’s shoulder. “You haven’t answered my texts in days…”

Sicheng didn’t reply. There was no explanation he could give, no reason that wouldn’t sound like he was lying. Yuta’s hand didn’t move.

“Please talk to me,” Yuta begged, taking another step forward to try to wrap his arms around Sicheng. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Sicheng blurted, shaking Yuta’s kind touch off. He turned, eyes wide, defensive like a cornered animal, and stared the elder down as if he could scare him off.

“Then why won’t you speak to me? To any of us? What’s wrong?” 

“There’s—There’s nothing wrong. You’re imagining things. Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you,” he answered, reaching for his doorknob to fumble with his keys. If he could just get inside…

“That’s bullshit,” Yuta said, as though he could see right through the fog of Sicheng’s lies. “Don’t push me away like this,  _ please. _ Let me help you, Sicheng. You mean so much to me.”

_ “Stop,” _ Sicheng said, his chest clenching. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe, like he really was caged in with nowhere to go. He couldn’t do this. “Just leave me alone.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” the elder demanded, clearly frustrated. “Nothing will get any better if you just run away from me like you’ve been running away from everything else. It’s cruel to leave me in the dark like this when you’ve obviously been changed by something.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Sicheng insisted, voice firm as if to end the argument entirely. Yuta tossed his hands up with a groan as the younger turned his attention to the door properly and was finally able to get it open so he could step into his home. 

“Sicheng—” Yuta began, only cutting himself off when Sicheng froze in place and crumpled to the floor, hands clutched over his mouth and eyes wide. Sicheng let the tears stream down his cheeks like a broken sink as he took in the scene that was waiting inside his little home all this time. It didn’t even take a full minute for Yuta to step forward to see what caused such a reaction. 

The smell hit first; a putrid, almost sweet scent that had him on the verge of gagging immediately, but that really didn’t live up to the damage inside. 

“Oh my god…” Yuta’s voice was distant, incredulous as he took in the mess of Sicheng’s living room. An unidentifiable, mangled animal corpse was flayed and strung out, nailed purposefully to the wall, surrounded by words written in smeared blood, thinly veiled threats and condescension. He turned his attention quickly to Sicheng, who reached up to Yuta almost reflexively, openly sniffling and barely able to see through his own tears. 

“I’m going crazy, right?” he sobbed, grasping desperately at Yuta’s arms. The elder glanced around the room once more before crouching to embrace Sicheng tightly. “This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.”

“My love, I don’t think you were ever going crazy,” Yuta said softly, reaching a hand up to stroke lovingly through Sicheng’s dark hair. “We need to get out of here. Let’s go to my house.” 

“This can’t be happening,” Sicheng repeated, holding onto Yuta like a child afraid of abandonment. He didn’t want Yuta to go. He didn’t know what to do. “What the fuck.”

“C’mon, Sicheng,” the redhead cooed, trying his best to seem supportive, stable, someone Sicheng could rely on. “Let’s go, baby. We can’t stay here.” 

It took another moment for Yuta to finally get Sicheng to stand again. The pair was quick to exit the house once more. Their small homes weren’t far apart, but the distance seemed to stretch out for eternity. Sicheng couldn’t help but glance back at his house every few seconds. It looked the same every time. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see, but his heart pounded with every glance back, his mind a blur of unease and trepidation.

Yuta’s door closing behind them felt like the final step into a different dimension. The elder kept his house warm in the fall months, and the scent of something deep and musky and undeniably Yuta almost seemed to wrap Sicheng in a warm blanket, fluffy and fresh from the dryer. His apprehension faded significantly, blotted out like spilled ink on a page — not gone but not nearly as prominent — and his body released its tension with a deep exhale as he flopped gracelessly onto the couch. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and wiped the dried tear tracks from his cheeks.

“Do you feel better?” Yuta asked, voice soft from his side. “Your house…”

“I always feel better with you,” Sicheng answered, not wanting Yuta to continue. He didn’t want to think about it. If he stopped thinking about it, it was sure to go away. He reached out for the elder, frazzled mind focused more on getting Yuta in his arms than anything and Yuta was more than willing to indulge. 

Yuta pressed a soft kiss to Sicheng’s temple instead of responding. The pair curled up together on the couch, all gentle touches and whispered words, focusing on each other rather than the world around them. 

About ten minutes passed before Yuta asked, “How long has this been happening?” 

Sicheng stiffened minutely, hands clenching into fistfuls of Yuta’s shirt. He buried his face in the elder’s shoulder.

“That’s the first time it’s been something so… gross,” he said, voice muffled. “But… weird things have been happening since before Halloween. I thought I was imagining most of it. I thought I was just seeing things. A trick of the light.”

“Why did you push us away?”

“Would you have believed me if I said picture frames were moving in my house? Or if I told you there seems to be a dark figure just outside of my periphery?” Sicheng held Yuta closer, hands shaking the slightest bit. “You would have thought I was crazy, too. I would have been a burden on you.”

“Oh, Sicheng,” Yuta cooed, squeezing him comfortingly. “I would have only wanted to help. I hate to see you like this.” 

Sicheng pulled back to look Yuta in the eye, searching his face for any sign of that being a lie. All he saw was the elder’s usual caring eyes. He didn’t know what to say. They kept eye contact like that for a moment before the emotion welled up inside of Sicheng again — this time not fear or shock — and a few weak tears spilled over his waterline. 

Yuta brought his hands up to cup Sicheng’s cheeks, gently wiping the tears with his thumbs before pulling him close for a kiss, light and tender. For a moment it felt almost normal, and for that Sicheng was endlessly grateful. 

“Even if I’d doubted you, I wouldn’t belittle you or push it aside. This is obviously having a negative effect on you. Baby, you should know I’ll always be on your side.” He flashed a brilliant smile, the one that always lit up the room. “What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise?” 

“Boyfriend,” the younger echoed. He felt his heart speed up a little in his chest. They hadn’t said it.  _ Boyfriend _ _._ “Who ever said you were my boyfriend?” 

“I did, you little brat,” Yuta laughed, pressing another soft kiss to Sicheng’s lips. Then another. And another. “And you’re my boyfriend, too, probably for a while. There just hasn’t been a good enough moment to say it outright, I think.” 

“Nothing like a little trauma to bring a couple together, eh?” Sicheng laughed, but it was cut short by a clench of his chest and another swell of emotion that he practically choked on. “My boyfriend.” 

“I know you’ve been eager to call home about a boyfriend,” Yuta teased. He gazed at Sicheng so fondly, like the younger boy held the entire cosmos within him. 

This time it felt like Sicheng could drown in the feeling that washed over him, that safe feeling that being around Yuta brought him mixed with the pure joy of that single word.  _ Boyfriend. _

They stayed curled up on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, and Sicheng felt like he could imagine a life like this — just the two of them in their own little world, safe and happy together. There was nothing he wanted more than to escape into that fantasy, to forget there was blood and viscera smeared along the walls of his living room. There was nothing he wanted more. 

* * *

Sicheng took to staying at Yuta’s place. Remaining enveloped in the presence of someone who cared for him so deeply seemed to do wonders; he felt nice and rested after sleeping, the shadows didn’t seem to jump as much, there weren’t any disappearing and reappearing items on the shelves. The thought that he really had imagined it all passed through his mind a few times over the week he stayed there. 

“I don’t want to go back over there,” he said firmly one morning as they lingered in the kitchen, ready to attend their respective jobs but not eager. “Even if things were normal, we left a rotting animal corpse to decay strung up against the wall. Maybe we should just burn it down.”

“I can tell you one thing we’re definitely  _ not _ going to do, and that’s burn down your  _ rented _ home,” Yuta retorted quickly, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

“It’s going to be awful inside,” Sicheng whined, leaning dramatically against the counter. He flashed Yuta his best puppy dog eyes. “I don’t want to go over there.”

“It won’t,” Yuta insisted, reaching across the space between them to pinch Sicheng’s cheek. “I asked Taeyong and Johnny to take care of it. It’s been clean all week.” He said it so simply, with such ease, as if he were simply sharing a weather forecast. Sicheng gaped at him.

“You’re kidding. What kind of favors did they owe you for you to be able to call  _ that _ in?” he asked, incredulous. Yuta laughed. 

“I’ve done many things to keep Taeyong’s impulses from getting Johnny fired is all.” He shrugged. “They are eternally in my debt. This was a perfect opportunity.”

“The thing is,” Yuta continued, clearing his throat with a forced cough. “Taeyong has some… interesting quirks I’m not sure you’re aware of. He wants to go back in and he wants us to be there. He can explain more, but first you have to agree to go.”

Sicheng blinked at him, narrowing his eyes sharply as if he could somehow manage to pull out some hidden meaning with his gaze alone. The elder looked a bit sheepish, like he did really want to even begin toeing the line of returning to Sicheng’s house, but there was nothing more readable from his expression.

“When you say ‘quirks,’” Sicheng began, still leaning against the counter, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“I don’t mean  _ My Hero Academia _ _,“_ Yuta filled in. “Taeyong doesn’t have super powers. He’s just a little more… in tune with things than we are. I think he’s thrown around the word ‘empath’ a time or two, but says that’s chiefly a science fiction trope.” 

It’d be a lie to say Sicheng knew what that meant exactly. He was familiar with the concept of… empathy, of course, and he knew how to be empathetic, but he wasn’t sure what the  _ hell _ an empath was. Someone very empathetic, probably? 

“So he… being an empath wants what exactly?” 

“It’d be best for him to explain, I think. I never know what’s going through his head.” 

* * *

Another few days went by before Taeyong and Johnny were able to come over. The youngest of the group was practically vibrating with nerves, clutching Yuta’s hand as though he’d float off with it to anchor him to the ground. 

“So, I don’t know what Yuta told you,” Taeyong called over his shoulder as the group walked from Yuta’s house to Sicheng’s. 

(Sicheng insisted on following behind Johnny and Taeyong, increasingly anxious about returning to the house after a week and a half of good days and relative normalcy.)

“He told me you understand feelings really well, I guess,” Sicheng answered, careful not to walk too far from Yuta’s side. “‘Empath,’ or something. I don’t know what it means.”

“That’s really all you need to know, I suppose.” Taeyong nodded.

He took a deep breath as they came to stop in front of Sicheng’s door on the rickety old porch. All of them kind of hovered there, until Taeyong turned to face Sicheng, expression dark. 

“There’s something bad here,” he said, completely serious. “It was peeved when Johnny and I were here, but I don’t know if it’d be mad or… glad for you to be here? It’s reaction to your presence is basically what’s going to tell us its intention.” 

Sicheng just looked at him with wide eyes, forcing a few deep breaths through his ever-tightening chest. He made himself nod. He could do it. 

Contrary to what he expected, Johnny and Taeyong went inside first, closing the door behind them and leaving Yuta and Sicheng on the porch together.

“We’ve got this,” Yuta said, squeezing his hand gently with a soft smile. “No big deal.” 

“No big deal,” the younger agreed, nodding. “No big deal.” 

Everything was calm as they walked through the door, a miraculous single moment where it felt like they had just come into Sicheng’s house after work one day with plans to sit around and play video games or maybe go to dinner later. But it was only a moment, and that facade of peace shattered when Taeyong’s shouted. 

Taeyong dropped to his knees, hands clutching at his head. The shout lessened to a series of distressed moans continuously slipping from him as he curled in on himself in hopes of somehow escaping whatever was causing him distress. 

“Out!” Johnny yelled, crouching to lift Taeyong into his arms and stepping towards Yuta and Sicheng at the door. “Out!” 

The pair obeyed wordlessly, scurrying back out the door with Johnny in tow. The moment the eldest stepped back onto the porch, the wooden door of Sicheng’s house slammed shut behind them. No one spoke, but Taeyong’s pained noises stopped completely, though he kept his hands clutched to his head, breathing heavily.

Maybe out of frustration, maybe fear, maybe confusion, Sicheng turned and latched onto Yuta, burying his face in the redhead’s neck. He choked on his own breath. Yuta rubbed his back soothingly. 

“Back to yours.” Johnny nodded at Yuta, stepping forward to begin the short walk back over. 

Yuta merely nodded, holding Sicheng gently to usher him along. Hopefully when they got to Yuta’s house there would be answers. 

Mere moments later found the four of them in a somber silence in Yuta’s living room. Taeyong sat in the armchair adjacent to the couch Yuta and Sicheng were perched on, with Johnny at his side. The couple shared knowling look before anyone spoke.

“Why did you move here?” Taeyong asked, uneasily breaking the tense silence in the room.

Sicheng looked to the floor, his sock clad feet, anything to avoid the elder’s piercing gaze.  _ He knew.  _ “There was a job—”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“What?” Yuta stood from Sicheng’s side, ready to be Sicheng’s defence at the drop of a hat. “How do you know?”

“I asked Kwon,” he answered simply, wrapping his arms around himself. “There wasn’t a job opening. She said Sicheng came in and asked if we had positions and she found one for him. There wasn’t anything advertised at all.” 

The youngest began fidgeting in his seat, growing more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.

“Why did you move here, Sicheng?” Taeyong asked again. 

He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t. He had put it behind him. It was something he had given up on, something that fell to the back burner when he realized how he felt about his cute neighbor, when he realized he found something worth holding onto. 

“I-I don’t—”

“It was Yukhei, right?” 

For a moment it seemed like no one was even breathing, as if everyone had frozen after a deep inhale, waiting to see who would gasp for air first. 

_ “Wong Yukhei?” _ Yuta clarified, casting confused glances between Taeyong and Sicheng before looking over at Johnny, who merely shrugged. “You came here because of Wong Yukhei?” 

“Your cousin,” Taeyong said softly, voice thick with pity as he stood to stand in front of Sicheng, reaching out to pat his head softly. “You came after he… went missing.” 

_“Don’t,” _ the youngest spat, surprising everyone in the room (including himself). He looked up at Taeyong with nervous narrowed eyes. “This isn’t his fault.”

“It’s not,” Taeyong confirmed, steady as ever. “It’s yours, of course, but Yukhei was the catalyst. You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t gone.”

It was true. Sicheng owed his current living situation to the sudden unexplained disappearance of his younger cousin; Yukhei had been a good kid, kept in contact with the family even after running off with some partner who cheated on him and married the other guy. Said he liked the city and it’s odd not-quite suburb just outside of it. Often invited the family to come visit. 

No one ever did. 

And then no one heard from him again. 

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Sicheng sighed, leaning back on the couch, expression hardened. “What about it?” 

“And when you tried to look into it, you didn’t find anything,” the elder continued, unmoving from where he’d come to stand. “Nothing. No records of his residence here. No lease. No obituary. No sign he even existed here.” 

Sicheng clenched his jaw, nearly shaking with anger with each word from Taeyong’s mouth. More truths. He couldn’t find even a hint of Yukhei’s life there. Not even the slightest trail of crumbs to follow. He’d given up and focused on a different object.

His gaze flickered towards Yuta, who was staring wide eyed and open mouthed at both him and Taeyong. It made Sicheng sheepish, having this secret outed, and he shrunk into himself on the couch.

“I asked the police, the people in city hall, no one said they even knew him,” he said after a moment, hands clenching and unclenching into fists on his lap. “But I know he lived here. I know he did.”

“I know he did, too. As did the rest of us. If you had told us sooner, maybe we could have helped you,” Taeyong said. He finally moved to sit next to Sicheng on the couch and Johnny stepped over as well, but Yuta stepped away, staring out his front window with his arms crossed over his chest. “We all knew him. It was weird when he disappeared, but people insisted he was just following another impulse and left. Someone suggested that he found a new lover and moved away with them.”

“He didn’t,” Sicheng insisted, almost defensive. “The break up was too fresh. He’s always taken his time after losing someone close to him like that. And even if he had, he’s always been quick to introduce partners to us, always been a romantic at heart. We would have known.” 

Johnny and Taeyong shared a sad look. “We know. He had a big heart.” 

“Do you know what happened to him?” He tried not to be hopeful, squashed that feeling burbling inside his chest with the weight of his friends’ regretful eyes. 

“No,” Johnny said, filling in for Taeyong, who seemed to suddenly lose his voice. Sicheng thought the sadness in the room was probably overwhelming for him at the moment. 

“But I do,” Yuta said, back still facing them. 

Sicheng glanced over at him, but his attention was drawn once more by Taeyong’s shaking hand latching onto his forearm. Taeyong was shaking beside him, sad eyes turned wide, round as dinner plates and unmoving from Yuta’s form across the room. 

“You’re scared,” Yuta noted, and Sicheng could hear the smile in his voice before he even turned to face them. When he did finally turn, they all blanched at the sight of Yuta’s normally caring dark eyes replaced by opaque, glowing white. His smile widened, almost unnaturally. “Good.” 

Johnny went to move, instinctively trying to shield Taeyong and Sicheng from whatever was going to happen. Yuta just laughed and sent both Johnny and Taeyong flying sideways across the small room with a flick of his wrist. Sicheng could only watch, horrified and frozen in place, as the couple crumbled to the floor, unmoving. 

“Don’t worry,” Yuta said, suddenly much,  _ much _ closer. Slowly, Sicheng turned his head to find Yuta perched on the couch next to him, smiling pleasantly. “They’re just unconscious. I only wanted you.” 

“Wh—”

“You want to know about Yukhei, right?” 

Sicheng’s chest clenched, allowing him only shallow breaths as Yuta reached out and gently caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers. The light touch sent a shudder down his spine, and the conflicting feelings flowing through Sicheng made him want to cry. It felt right to be sitting there with Yuta, to be touched so gently, to be smiled at so fondly, but that wasn’t his Yuta. The hands and smile were his Yuta’s, but those eyes, bright and blank, yet so expressive, were not. 

He couldn’t even find the breath to protest. 

“You’re so cute.” Yuta laughed. “So scared of me, scared of the one you love. How does it feel?” 

Yuta’s hand found a place cupping Sicheng’s cheek, his thumb rubbing softly over his cheekbone. Again, that conflicted feeling surged through him, and he had to stop himself from leaning into the familiar, although cold, touch. 

“Absolutely adorable,” the elder cooed, leaning in close as if to kiss him. “But your cousin… He’s rotting at the bottom of that lake you dislike so much.” 

It wasn’t unexpected in the slightest. At this point it just made sense for Yukhei to be dead, but hearing it like this, from this voice, in this position. Sicheng huffed out an incredulous, choked-off laugh.

“Tut-tut, baby,” Yuta teased, loving smile stretching into a horrible grin. “Don’t cry. You wanted to know, after all. That’s why you came here. That’s why I’m here now.” 

“Stop,” Sicheng begged, voice just above a whisper. “Please, stop.” 

“He was so pretty, you know,” the other continued regardless. “When he was alive. If only you could have seen how much prettier he was drowning, the way fear lit up his eyes when he realized he was going to die. There were cement blocks tied to his ankles. He was so scared, so full of regret. He had his whole life ahead of him, didn’t he?” 

This time a sob broke from Sicheng, though unaccompanied by tears, torn from him as Yuta continued. He didn’t want to think about it, but he could imagine it clearly — Yukhei, his baby cousin, sinking hopelessly to the bottom, dying slowly, cold and alone in that fucking lake. He could imagine the panic, the feeling of knowing he was going to die as he inhaled the water, filling his lungs like the regrets of all the things he’d left undone in the world above filled his mind.

“Perhaps you’d like to join him?” 

It sounded almost joking, the same way Yuta would have delivered the punch line to a shitty dad joke that would undoubtedly make Johnny choke laughing. That thought seemed to snap Sicheng out of his own thoughts, out of his fear induced stillness, and he pushed Yuta away hard. 

Oddly enough, that seemed to do the trick; the angle was just perfect for Yuta’s head to collide with the hard wooden frame of the arm chair, no longer cushioned from years of use, before thudding onto the ground. His eyes fluttered shut and a burst of wind blew through the room before dying down, and Yuta’s body stayed limp on the ground.

Sicheng just sat there, staring down at his boyfriend until the  _ oh, fuck _ really settled in his mind. He slid onto the floor, shaking Yuta as if trying to rouse him from slumber.

“Yuta!” he shouted, getting louder as the panic settled in. He shook the elder a little firmer. “Yuta!” 

When Yuta didn’t respond at all, Sicheng turned instead to Johnny and Taeyong. He rushed over to them and gave them the same treatment, shaking them harshly and shouting their names. Thankfully, he had more luck with them, and they came to relatively quickly, gasping as their eyes flew open and darting up immediately.

“Please — Yuta — what do I—”

Taeyong cut him off by pulling him into a close embrace, and nodded at Johnny, who was quick to pull his phone from his pocket and call 911. It took a moment of Taeyong’s tight hug for Sicheng to crack, pent up emotion flooding him all at once, squeezing tears from his ducts and down his cheeks. Yukhei was dead. Yuta was unconscious. And he was sitting on the floor feeling responsible for both. 

* * *

The hospital was silent except for the beeping of machinery throughout the halls. Sicheng sat in the too-clean room, chair pulled up to the side of Yuta’s too-clean bed, staring blankly at his too-peaceful face. 

“Mr. Dong?” An nurse stepped into the doorway, calling his attention. He stood quickly and scurried towards her with another glance back towards Yuta. 

“Hi,” he said, unsure of what to really say.

“He’ll be unconscious for a while, but there should be no lasting damage other than a bruise on his head for a few days,” she said, voice sweet and motherly. The sweetness turned sour to Sicheng’s ears as she continued. “I’d recommend you leave, though, lest something worse come to him or your other friends.” 

He gaped at her smiling face. Maybe he just misheard—

“He is always hungry, and we are always eager to please.”

The realization hit him hard, settling heavy in his stomach like the concrete blocks attached to Yukhei’s ankles at the bottom of the lake. 

“But if you leave, those three will be safe. In fact, they may not even remember a thing about what happened today.” 

A threat. A promise. Not something that needed mulling over. 

“Swear to me,” he demanded, voice a whisper. “Swear to me if I leave, nothing will happen to them.”

Her smile widened. “We swear if you leave this place and never come back, we will bring no harm to your friends.” 

Sicheng nodded, understanding, but he couldn’t seem to find anything to say. It didn’t feel like anything needed to be said. He took a step away from the woman and looked into the dim hospital room once more; although he knew deep down inside that this was the last thing he’d see of Yuta, unconscious in a hospital bed, he couldn’t find it in him to cry. Almost like his tears had dried up as he told himself over and over he was doing the right thing. 

He didn’t waste any time once he left the hospital. 

It was easy enough for him to call a cab back to his small rented house, though it wasn’t as easy not to stare longingly towards Yuta’s next door. When he exited the cab, he was greeted by a breeze, unnatural in the otherwise still afternoon. He sighed. 

The breeze blew gently along with him as he approached the house, crisp chill nipping at his nose as a typical breeze might. Both he and the wind stopped at the door. His heart beat a little harder in his chest as he reached out and gripped the doorknob, but he only paused a moment before pushing it open. 

The interior of his house was clean, just like when they’d stepped inside earlier, only illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the open door. The atmosphere was heavy, bearing down on him oppressively as he sluggishly made his way through the home.

Luckily for him, he hadn’t brought much with him when he had come to live here; his clothes and a few random valuables fit nicely in a single large suitcase and a duffle bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. He stood in the old doorway and just… stared into the house. All the furniture had already been there. The only evidence he had ever stayed there was the bulk pack of instant noodles in the kitchen cabinet, the trash in the bin, the key left in the lock when he closed the door behind him. 

* * *

Sicheng always adapted quickly. He had settled in nicely in the last town within a few weeks, regardless of his underlying intention, and this place was no different. The skyscrapers and cement sidewalks felt welcoming from the moment he stepped out of the bus, and his apartment search was quick and painless. Something inside of him knew he was always destined to live in a big city, far from any suburbs, any small houses and eerie lakes, anyone who knew him. He was always meant to start over somewhere like this and really live. 

Or at least that’s what he told himself. Even on the good days in his first few weeks of his new life, there was a longing in him, regret for cutting ties, for vanishing without as much as a goodbye. He might as well have died considering how he left. 

He tried not to linger on it. 

It took him a month to find a job, graciously living off family loans and instant noodles until he was able to support himself and pay them back. It felt like graduating from college all over again, finding himself a path to walk. 

Six months passed. 

A year. 

He wondered how Taeyong decorated the apartment for Christmas, for New Years. He wondered if he decorated for Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, any of the smaller holidays in the months he hadn’t known them. He wondered what Johnny was for Halloween, if Yuta made that DIY drink again. That night, he drank himself stupid and spent the next day passed out over his toilet. 

November was pleasant in the city. Sparse trees turned colors, scattered their crisp leaves along cracked cement and faded asphalt, carried away by the feet of businessmen, university students rushing to class, happy dogs of 20-somethings just starting their lives. Sicheng liked it. He could get used to it. 

There was a city park two blocks from his apartment building. His favorite coffee shop was situated at the northeastern corner of the park, a welcoming space ran by a foreign woman whose name he could never remember and staffed by tired university students, many of whom had Sicheng’s coffee order memorized. He always took his warm drink to-go, always sat in the center of the park to watch people come and go; some familiar, some not, some smiling, some straight-faced. Sometimes he would make up stories about them while he sipped warm coffee to fight the chill. 

It was a Saturday routine. 

He had learned to love routine. 

“Sicheng?” 

A voice pulled him from his thoughts and the November cold replaced the warmth from his coffee when he turned his head to follow the sound. His eyes went wide. 

He had learned to love routine — his favorite coffee shop, the city park, the happy and sad and emotionless people who passed by — but sometimes change was welcome. He wasn’t sure if this was a welcome one.

The person who approached was familiar, though his hair was no longer red and he wasn’t lying in a hospital bed as Sicheng last remembered him. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a single duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. 

“It really is you,” Yuta was incredulous, huffing out a small laugh even as Sicheng gaped at him. 

“Say something, please,” he begged.

“What are you doing here?” Sicheng finally choked out, standing and tossing his coffee towards the trash can to his left to embrace Yuta, almost as if on reflex.

“I feel like I could ask the same of you.” 

“Shut up, old man,” he teased half-heartedly, pulling back from the embrace to look at his face more closely. “What are you doing here, Yuta?” 

Yuta smiled, though it was a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes, not quite the smile that lit up the room. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Yuta answered, reaching to cup Sicheng’s cheeks with gloved hands. “You left without a word. I couldn’t remember anything. I didn’t know what happened, but I knew I couldn’t let you go so easily. I can’t believe I was lucky enough to actually find you again.”

“You’re so stupid.” The younger smiled even as he said it, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.”

They hugged again, clinging tightly to one another in the middle of the city park. It felt so right for Sicheng to be in Yuta’s arms, to have Yuta in his arms. He couldn’t believe how natural it still felt. He couldn’t believe Yuta hugged him back just as tightly.

“I love you,” Yuta said, pressing a kiss to Sicheng forehead. “I never stopped thinking about you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Sicheng hid his face, burying it in the soft wool scarf wrapped around Yuta’s neck. He didn’t know what to say. He had avoided admitting the same things to himself; he wasn’t sure if he could say them out loud. 

“Yuta, I…” he began, trailing off when he couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. “Will you stay?” 

“I’d love to,” Yuta answered with no hesitation, sounding almost relieved. “If you’ll have me.”

“I don’t think I’d ever not have you,” Sicheng said softly, pulling away from their embrace once more, though slowly this time, as if he worried Yuta would be gone once the hug was finished. “If you’d have me.” 

“I came all this way for you. I’ll have you forever if that’s what you’d like.” 

Sicheng smiled, filling with warmth once more as he laced their hands together, the kind of warmth that made him feel whole and didn’t fade as quickly as the warmth of coffee did. He spared a thought to the town, to the nurse who told him to leave, to the friends and the love he left there when he thought he was doing what was right.

“What now?” he asked, nerves beginning to prickle at his skin. “Where do we go from this?” 

“Here is fine,” Yuta insisted, squeezing his hand gently. “Anywhere is fine as long as we’re together.” 

The months seemed to fade away as if they’d never parted, as if Yuta didn’t look tired and Sicheng didn’t know the city at all. The road ahead was an adventure, one they’d walk together. 

“We can start with my apartment,” Sicheng said with a nod, pulling Yuta gently in the direction of the apartment building. “Or coffee? Or whatever you want.” 

“Apartment, I think,” Yuta replied, following eagerly. “I think we have some life to catch up on, yeah?” 

Sicheng nodded and hummed his assent. He didn’t find words very necessary. He walked confidently down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand with Yuta, and didn’t even shiver as a breeze kicked up, the chill lapping at their exposed skin in the mid-November morning. 


End file.
